Nocturnal (Book Review)

This is a very short review of a new poetry collection by Wilder Poetry.

Nocturnal was the first poetry collection from Wilder Poetry that I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. It is an achingly beautiful work of art. The emotional intensity of the poems are juxtaposed with calming black and white watercolor-type imagery of the moon in its phases, birds, trees, and other nature-related things.

The poetic themes seem to be centered around the poet’s identity and the euphoria, misery and pain of love in its highs and lows. Her voice sounds quite youthful and should appeal to readers in their teens and twenties. Readers of the poetry of Atticus should enjoy this collection very much! Grandparents, this would be a great gift for a teen or twenty something book-loving grandchild.

Here are a couple of poems:

how to handle me with care:

forgive;

then show me how

to do the same.

I will hold the colour gold

in my hands and show you

how beautiful this life can be

even when your eyes have forgotten

how to see the light.

the sun will always find its way back to you,

just like me.

I received a free e-galley through Net Galley, but all opinions are strictly my own.

Evening Poetry, May 8

My Mother

by Jane Kenyon

My mother comes back from a trip downtown to the dime

store. She has brought me a surprise. It is still in her purse.

She is wearing her red shoes with straps across the in-

step. They fasten with small white buttons, like the eyes

of fish.

She brings back zippers and spools of thread, yellow and

green, for her work, which always takes her far away, even

though she works upstairs, in the room next to mine.

She is wearing her blue plaid full-skirted dress with the

large collar, her hair fastened up off her neck. She looks

pretty. She always dresses up when she goes downtown.

Now she opens her straw purse, which looks like a small

suitcase. She hands me a new toy: a wooden paddle with

a red rubber ball attached to it by an elastic string. Some-

times when she goes downtown, I think she will not come back.

You can find this poem and more in Otherwise: New & Selected Poems by Jane Kenyon.

Evening Poetry, May 7

Here is a children’s poem to read to the little ones in your life and for the child in you.

The Spring Wind

by Charlotte Zolotow

The summer wind

is soft and sweet

the winter wind is strong

the autumn wind is mischievous

and sweeps the leaves along.

The wind I love the best

comes gently after rain

smelling of spring and growing things

brushing the world with feathery wings

while everything glistens, and everything sings

in the spring wind

after the rain.

You can find this poem in Read-Aloud Rhymes For The Very Young selected by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by Marc Brown. This book will always be special to me because it was the first book given to me by a dear friend, Mary Church, right after the birth of my son. She brought it to the hospital. The one I have is here, but as it’s an older edition, you may have to buy it used.

Charlotte Zolotow, the author of this poem, wrote children’s books favorited by my kids, including The Storm Book and Over and Over. I am going to begin writing about kid lit soon, as I have many books that I enjoyed as a child and ones that my kids enjoyed when they were little as well.

Evening Poetry, May 6

The Book of a Monastic Life: I,2

by Rainer Maria Rilke

I live my life in widening circles

that reach out across the world.

I may not complete this last one

but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.

I’ve been circling for thousands of years

and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,

a storm, or a great song?

You can find this poem and more in Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy.

Evening Poetry, May 2

I’ve decided to continue with a poem each evening simply because I wish to share the power and beauty of poetry with whomever visits this blog.

Here is a poem written by my dear friend, Laurie Petrisin. Laurie is a gifted artist and writer. You can view and purchase her work on her art website here,her jewelry website here or on Etsy.

Hiding

Will you hide your whole life?

Your whole existence?

Is life not yours

To do with what you will?

Bad things happen

It’s not a clear path

Or a smooth ride

And you’re not perfect

But don’t sentence yourself

To victim status

You’re more than that

Fight!

Let out the primitive roar

The unpolished You

That the world tries

To sand away

Little by little

Bit by bit

Until you disappear

You won’t find yourself

By hiding

Evening Poetry, April 30

In honor of National Poetry Month, and Mary Oliver, our beloved national poet who passed away in January, I will be posting one of her poems each evening in April. I am hoping to follow in the footsteps of Sarah Clarkson and read a poem on Instagram Live in the evenings as well…Follow me on Instagram to tune in.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the praises and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

This poem can be found in the collection Dream Work.

Evening Poetry, April 29

In honor of National Poetry Month, and Mary Oliver, our beloved national poet who passed away in January, I will be posting one of her poems each evening in April. I am hoping to follow in the footsteps of Sarah Clarkson and read a poem on Instagram Live in the evenings as well…Follow me on Instagram to tune in.

Milkweed

the milkweed now with their many pods are standing

like a country of dry women.

The wind lifts their flat leaves and drops them.

This is not kind, but they retain a certain crisp glamour;

moreover, it’s easy to believe

each one was once young and delicate, also

frightened; also capable

of a certain amount of rough joy.

I wish you would walk with me out into the world.

I wish you could see what has to happen, how

each one crackles like a blessing

over its thin children as they rush away.

This poem can be found in the collection Dream Work.